Immaculate Infatuation

Does it get any worse than Heartland Brewery? They give Hard Rock Cafe a run for their money. Average food, bad burgers, a cookie cutter crowd and the single nastiest exhaust vent I’ve ever experienced. Our office is unfortunately situated across the street from the Heartland on 51st St. and 6th Ave., which forces a walk right through that gag-inducing breeze every day. It’s just not right.

With our ingrained feeling of revulsion towards anything Heartland related, you can imagine how shocked we were to find out from a trusted co-worker that Heartland’s new burger joint, HB Burger was not only worth checking out, but home to a real quality burger.

Damn, we’re impressed HB Burger. Although the decor is typical Heartland style and your fries are still average at best, your burger is as fine as Alyssa Milano. Congrats. You’re now in our regular lunch rotation. Bonus points for serving your burgers with a very solid pickle spear.

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A recent road trip to Citrus reminded me why I don’t ever go to the UWS to eat. Of course there are better restaurants on the UWS than Citrus, but it’s a perfect representation of everything that’s wrong with restaurants in this area. Citrus has been a neighborhood staple for years now; the place is overflowing with people 24/7. The space is huge, loud and as cheesy as it gets. Fluorescent lights illuminate the walls while the room comes fully equipped with a stone waterfall and enough plants to pass for a Rainforest Cafe. There is nothing NYC about this place; you might as well be eating in Texas. While the food isn’t terrible, their Latin meets Asian menu is just too far-fetched. If they tried this downtown, the restaurant wouldn’t last more than a year. Do you really want chips and salsa before your sushi? That’s just strange. Also, if I’m paying $15 for a margarita, I expect that drink to be labor intensive, not just some tequila tossed in with a pre-made mixture.

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We have covered a lot of ground in the East Village, and, on the surface, The Redhead looks like one of those places that was left behind as the neighborhood gentrified. It’s a small, nondescript bar that is not (yet) on the hit list of the post-college East Village crowd. What they don’t know (yet) is that the food coming out of The Redhead’s kitchen is some of the best in the neighborhood. The off-the-hook fried chicken has been drawing a lot of press lately, and the rest of the menu is shockingly good – the absolute opposite of what you would expect to get from a dark little East Village bar. It will be interesting to see how the regulars deal with the inevitable increase in traffic. We definitely noticed some dates going down in the room, and it’s probably a good place for that. Just be aware that it’s a relatively quiet place, which will no doubt make those awkward silences extra painful.

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Frank Prisinazo (Frank, Lil’ Frankies) pretty much has a monopoly over the Italian game in the East Village. Supper, his slightly more upscale Italian institution, has been mobbed since the day it opened. They don’t take reservations, but they do have a nice wine bar next door to hang at while you wait. For a cash only operation (both the restaurant and wine bar), the wine list is steep. It’s surprising that there aren’t more two- digit options. The food menu however, is packed with well executed, moderately priced Italian favorites in addition to the always changing specials (the reason we keep coming back). The seats outside on the sidewalk are nice, but we prefer this dimly lit spaghetti haunt on a freezing cold night the when oven in the middle of the room is keeping everyone warm.

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Braeburn opened about a year ago, and a deluge of glowing write ups quickly followed. Curious and admittedly behind the ball on this one, we recently decided to make our first visit. The menu is all farm-to-market. Or is it farm-to-table? Or is it market-to-table? I’m not sure what the current terminology is, but the food all comes from local farms. Now, let us be clear and state that we love the local food movement. We love farms, we love farmers, we love farmer’s markets, and we love hearing that the chef killed our pork chop with his own bare hands merely hours ago. But we also love it when all that local stuff adds up to a phenomenal meal. Unfortunately in Braeburn’s case, it didn’t. The location is amazing, the room is comfortable and beautiful, and all the aesthetic details have been meticulously tended to. Unfortunately the food just isn’t going to blow your mind. Don’t get us wrong, nothing we ate was bad by any means … but nothing was great either. One of our friends at the table who works in the food industry put it perfectly: the stage is set for an amazing chef to come in and knock this place out of the park. In the meantime, throw on your TOMS and remind yourself when you eat there that you are doing a solid for some local farmers.

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